


Learned Skill

by shortythescreen



Category: Apex Legends (Video Games)
Genre: AFAB reader - Freeform, AMAB Bloodhound, Canon Non-Binary Character, Combat Training, Gender-Neutral Pronouns, Other, Semi-Public Sex, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-03
Updated: 2020-08-03
Packaged: 2021-03-05 21:00:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,803
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25681687
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shortythescreen/pseuds/shortythescreen
Summary: The reader has asked their partner, Bloodhound, to train them so they could compete in the Apex Games. When it proves to be more difficult than they originally thought, they get a little frustrated. Bloodhound is here to help.
Relationships: Bloodhound (Apex Legends)/Reader
Comments: 5
Kudos: 89





	Learned Skill

The worst part about this whole thing is that you were the one that asked Bloodhound to train you.

The worst _worst_ part is that you didn’t think it would be that hard. Sure, you knew that you weren’t the most athletic person in the world, that you would need to have some patience with yourself. But if Caustic, who you’ve seen eat a whole cheesecake when he thought no one else was looking, can do it, then why can’t you? If Octane can do it when he looks like a strong breeze could knock him over, then why can’t you?

Why _can’t_ you?

You expected Bloodhound to beat your ass at every turn. They’ve been the Champion of the Arena more than once, have earned the title Apex Predator. You didn’t think you were going to knock them off their feet in one fell swoop. You didn’t think they would stare up at you with hearts in their eyes, amazed and impressed by your strength and beauty (even if you thought about it a few times). You’re not stupid.

You just. Fucking. Are having a hard time.

“Again,” says Bloodhound. You have no idea how the hell they’re wearing a cloth face mask. Sweat must be dotting their upper lip beneath it and their tinted goggles give you no hint to how they’re feeling. You stand at the opposite end of the boxing ring, panting, your hands on your knees. “Do you need a break, elskan?”

“No, no,” you grunt. “I’m good. I wanna get this.”

“The decision is yours.”

You wonder if they’re annoyed with you. You two have been running this same fucking sequence for four days. It’s really not that hard and you’ve understood every other drill _before_ it. Hound insisted before showing you how to handle weapons, you needed to know your way around your fists.

_The overseers make us find our weapons,_ they said, _if you ever intend to compete, you will have to know how to survive with only your wits and your fists. Especially in the event you are paired with Octavio and he throws your squad into the hot zone._

Which, okay, cool. You were disappointed that you weren’t going to be able to spin a Wingman around your finger like Elliott did but you weren’t opposed to learning how to upper cut someone, or whatever. Last week, they taught you about your stance, about basic punches and kicks, how to block. Now, you were combining all of those things. Simple, right? Punch, punch, block, kick, block, punch. Simple.

Yet you can’t seem to get it right.

You fix yourself, putting your fists up, tucking your elbows in. You shift one of your feet in front of the other, your dominant foot forward. Hound copies you and if you weren’t so wound up, you would probably be distracted by the way the muscles of their shoulders contract.

You two circle one another and then you launch yourself forward. Easy. Simple. Punch, punch, block, kick, block-

“Keep your hands up.” Bloodhound says and, fuck, when did they drop? You punch but you’re thrown off, overthinking how high or low your fists are, and instead of hitting their block, you miss them entirely.

“Damn it,” you huff.

“That’s alright,” murmurs Hound, “try again. Remember, if your hands are not protecting your face, your opponent may take the opportunity to hit it. It’s very easy to be caught unaware if you have to deal with a broken nose.”

“Right,” you say, then drop back into position. You got this. Punch, punch, block-

“Fuck!” You hiss, your foot slapping the floor of the ring. It echoes, and echoes, and it probably wouldn’t be fucking echoing if you could just get through this _sequence_. You throw your hands up, your legs spread in an awkward squat. “I fucking! I just! I need a shower.”

You don’t spare your partner a backwards glance as you stomp to the edge of the ring. You dip under the stretched band, hopping down and hurrying towards the locker rooms, blinking back the tears gathering in the corners of your eyes.

You huff as you flop down onto a bench in front of the locker you stuffed your gym bag into. You’re yanking it out, digging through it to find your shampoo and conditioner. All you want to do is jump in one of the showers and rinse the grime off you and maybe forget what a fucking _failure_ you are.

That’s harsh. You know it’s harsh. It’s so hard not to feel that way, though, when Bloodhound makes it look so easy. They move with such grace, such agility – they’re a warrior and you’re- you’re just-

You’re pulled from your thoughts when the bench creaks next to you. You look up briefly, seeing that Bloodhound has joined you. They’ve pulled their cloth face mask off, letting it rest on one of their ears as they stare at the lockers, their goggles on top of their head. Which means they can’t see shit. You turn back to your bag and the silence that follows feels stiff, rigid. Congested with the aggravation rolling off you in waves.

“Arthur taught me to hunt when I was a child,” says Bloodhound, breaking the silence. You pause, your fingers stilling in their relentless search. You don’t move, barely breathe.

“As a young one, mistakes seemed… Unimportant. I rarely wanted to understand the tracks of beasts for any other reason than to try and make friends with them.” Your lips twitch up. How adorable. “As a teenager, this changed. For many reasons. I did not want to disappoint my Uncle. At all things I have done, I have wanted to be the best. Though he might have been strict, and unrelenting, Arthur taught me one thing that I hold onto in the moments that I feel the competition within myself flare.”

You finally turn to face them, and you find their eyes on you. Their full lips are curved up at one corner, the softness of their copper colored eyes making your heart squeeze. “Rarely is battle something someone is naturally gifted in. It takes practice, discipline. Patience.”

You sigh heavily, sitting up, resting your hands on the edge of the bench. You press your lips to the side, in an ashamed little pucker. Your knee bounces but Hound doesn’t press, doesn’t force you to speak.

“You’re so… Good at this stuff,” you mutter, “and I want to be good at it too. For it to make sense for you to be with me.”

“Does it not now?” Bloodhound asks and their rough knuckles find the apple of your cheek, caressing the edge of it. You lean into their touch.

“You’re this amazing warrior. Four time Champion of the Arena. Apex predator. And I’m… squishy.” You say.

“You too can be an amazing warrior, beloved,” they say, “but please, do it for yourself. I would love you if you never chose to participate in the games or if you remained… _squishy_ for the rest of our days.”

A laugh tumbles from your lips, unbidden. Bloodhound has the audacity to beam at you, clearly delighted they’ve made you laugh and with a sigh, you careen into them, your head finding their shoulder.

“Alright, okay.”

They loop an arm around your shoulder, resting their cheek on top of yours. “Once, when I kicked a rock in a fit of irritation, Arthur made me run the perimeter of our village three times.”

“Ouch. You gonna make me run, Hound?” They chuckle at your words, their gun calloused fingers blazing a trail down the length of your bicep before they gently grip your elbow, pulling your body firmly into their side.

“No. But I have another idea of how to make you sweat,” their voice lowers with dangerous promise and your breath hitches in your throat. “You meant to shower?”

“Yes.”

“Then go. And perhaps I will join you.”

Oh shit. Ohhhhh shit. The husk of their tone makes heat bolt through you, makes you squirm in your seat. They press a dry kiss to your temple, and you hop up, completely forgetting the shampoo and conditioner you had been digging for in favor of hurrying towards the showers.

You can barely focus on how good the hot spray feels. You don’t know how Hound cleared out the gym today, if they paid someone or just knew the Legends well enough to know they wouldn’t be here today. They did though and now they’re following your training up with fulfilling some of your naughty fantasies. Not that you’ve expressed to them that you’re interested in kind of public, kind of wet sex, but-

Rough hands find the swell of your hips and your breath stutters in your lungs. Shit. When did they even get in here? They waste no time, dragging you back, against their body as naked as your own.

“Do you think it yours to decide whether we have finished with our training, hm?” They whisper in your ear, the brush of their lips on the shell making a little tingle go down your spine. “Do you think yourself in _charge_ , beloved?”

“No,” you say softly, shaking your head, only to tilt it to the side as their lips find the side of your throat, the juncture between it and your shoulder. “No, Bloodhound, I never meant-”

“Never. You never meant,” they nod against your shoulder, their curls sticking to your wet skin. “Oh, beloved, I understand. I do.”

They don’t. They walk you out from under the spray, pressing your front against the tile wall of the shower. Their hands that have been static on your hips move, gracefully migrating down to the tops of your thighs. They part them, nudging them apart and forcing your knees against the tile.

“But I cannot let you play at authority,” they growl out and the slow, steady roll of their hips against your ass lets you feel their cock, twitching and hard between your spread thighs. You gasp, pressing your forehead against the tile. “Keep your legs apart. Do not look back.”

You nod slowly, resting your hands on either side of your head. Hound shifts behind you and the delicious pressure of their dick disappears, much to your chagrin. They must sense this because they chuckle but before you can ask them what’s so funny, wriggle around, their hands grip your ass cheeks, spreading them apart.

Your breath hitches, whatever smart comment that you wanted to make dying on your tongue as your legs tremble. You have to fight the urge to close them, the feeling of being so exposed making you twitch in their hands. They let you sit like that, with your cheeks spread, your breath stuck in your throat like food that’s gone down the wrong pipe.

“Do you remember your safe word?” they ask, and you nod, eagerly. They blow cool air against your puckered asshole, and you shiver, knowing that the water must be hitting their back, knowing that their cock is bobbing between their legs. They say no more, their tongue finding home between the globes of your ass, and you squeak.

Their tongue is relentlessly, working against your tight hole. They flicker the tip against it, before dragging themselves all the way down until their tongue almost touches your cunt. The noise they make into your ass makes you squirm, but you know they have to see how wet you are, how much you want them. How much this is turning you on. They suck their way back up, pulling back to kiss each of your cheeks before their tongue flattens all the way into your ass.

“Hound,” you whine, desperation edging at your tone. They keep teasing you, their tongue flickering close to the wet edge where ass stops and your pussy begins, but they are not merciful. You find yourself panting, your breath joining the steam all around you both.

“Who do you belong to, elskan? Who decides when we are finished?” They ask, lowly. Before you can answer, their fingers find your wet lips and they slide two inside without warning. You absolutely wail at the stretch, at the way that once they have spoken, they attack your ass.

“Hound! You, you, shit, it’s you, please-” You plead, and you guess this must do it for them because they shoot to their feet. Their fingers don’t stop, curled inside of your cunt, fucking up hard and fast into you. You glance over your shoulder but instead of being reprimanded, their lips find yours, forceful tongue parting your lips to find yours as they seal their chest against your back. You squirm, your thighs trembling, aching, before you finally cum with a shout around their knuckles.

Your legs twitch and they barely move away, their breath mingling with yours. Their fingers slide out of you with an embarrassing squelch and you feel wet, sticky, but your clit still throbs when they push their cock between the seam of your pussy lips.

“Can you take me, elskan? Now that I’ve made you cum?” They ask, their soaked fingers creeping around to your front so they can massage your thick clit.

“Fuck, yes,” you whisper, and they grin at your eagerness, all hooded eyes and feral energy. The hand not toying with your clit finds your shoulder and they whip you around. That same hand slinks down and they hitch up your leg over their hip, kneeling just enough so that this time when they grind their hips up into you, their cock catches against your soaked hole.

They whisper your name and in a moment of tenderness, their lips find the apple of your cheek. You smile delicately, meeting their eyes. They give you a serene, sweet smile, before their cock sinks home into your cunt.

The pleasant stretch of them has you throwing your head back, your lower lip catching between your teeth.

“Look at me,” they murmur and it’s with great effort that you open your eyes. The second you meet their gaze they thrust into you hard, abrupt, hips smacking wetly into yours and you whimper. Your oversensitive walls are fluttering around them, squishy and soft from the way they made you cum earlier.

They don’t show you mercy, though, pounding into your wet cunt like they own it. They do, fucking Christ, you swear they do. Your fingernails dig into their muscular shoulders, your teeth weakly scraping across their throat and making them moan your name. They angle their hips just right, tilting in such a way that suddenly they slam into something hot, and deep, and it has you crying out as they groan.

“There,” they hiss. It’s not a question, not when they brutally thrust into your twitching cunt, so deep inside of you that you see stars. You suck hard at their neck, trying to fight back your noises, trying to make them feel as good as you do now. Their nails dig into the thigh they have hostage and to your surprise, they start talking.

Bloodhound isn’t normally a talker during sex, not unless you two are in scene. Giving orders, correcting you, calling you names. That’s usually what they reserve their filth for.

“You are more than worthy of me,” they almost whisper and you sob as they punctuate this with a sharp thrust, “you are the first thing I think about when I wake, the last thing I think about when I sleep. The love-”

They outright growl when your cunt flexes around them in tandem with your nails raking down their back and their hips stutter into yours. Their cock slowly grinds into you and you tremble in their arms.

“The love of my life,” they huff out, their voice deepening, thickening, “you’re mine, forever, I love you, I _love_ you-”

They groan as their hips begin to stutter and clench and the twitch in their dick inside of you has you jerking, so, so close. Their fingers fondle your clit, haphazard, messy, and you whimper as you finally cum a second time around their throbbing cock. They twist their head to press against your ear, panting harshly, and you try to catch your breath too.

“I love you too,” you breathe.

They chuckle softly, squeezing your hip in their hand. Then they kiss your temple, eyes sliding shut as they relish in your warmth against their chill. The water behind you two has run cold by now and the parts of your hair that haven’t been under the spray are drying.

“We should clean ourselves.” They whisper.

“Or we could go again?” You offer and they growl out, sending a bolt of heat straight through you.

“That can be arranged, beloved.”

**Author's Note:**

> You can come support me on my tumblr @shortythescreen.


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